#31
I stand on the precipice of insanity,
curiously peering over,
wondering at the feeling
of that detached air
caressing my face,
whispering in my ear;
at the attempt to lean further,
the hands holding me
grasp my attention,
I will not dive,
not to those unseen depths,
I will not climb,
not to those blasphemous heights;
oh how I long to swim,
no, fear to drown, in those
other-wordly waters,
oh how they draw me in;
I will snap every connection
in my brain like a glowstick,
and walk in a light
none other can ever see,
I will float among the stars
of a galaxy that belongs
only to me;
I look up at the mountain
of delusion, scream
for her avalanche
to wipe me away, no,
to wipe away my chains,
to set me free;
my wrists strain
against their chains,
no, your hands, even as
my feet leave the ground;
I will live in psychotic freedom,
bathe in deranged waters,
sup on the imaginary;
if only I can escape,
if only I can break,
the grip of reality
